A simple act of connection during divisive times

In 1975, I started second grade in the Scottsdale neighborhood off New Cut Road in Auburndale. It was the first year of busing, and I was the only child in my neighborhood who went to school on the first day. The rest were boycotting or protesting. Auburndale Elementary sat just next to our neighborhood, but that year, it felt much farther away.

I don’t remember many details from that time, but one moment has always stayed with me. During a reading group, a little Black girl named Tracy began gently petting my hair. I asked her why, and she said she liked how soft it was. I asked if I could pet her hair too, and she smiled and said yes. So, there we sat, two second graders in a time of division, quietly petting each other’s heads during re

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